by Mary Mead
“Excuse me,” I said, and went to the door.
Papa Murphy stood on the third step.
“Good morning,” he said with a big smile.
“Good morning,” I returned. “Come on in.”
Papa Murphy came in the door then stopped short when he saw John at the table. He looked at me. “Is there a problem? Another one? Did something happen?”
“Not with the facility, Mr. Murphy. Everything here is fine. Have a seat. I’ll get my resignation for you.”
“What resignation? What’s going on here?”
John stood and shook hands with the older gentleman. “John Kincaid, Mr. Murphy.”
“I know who you are. I hired you. I want to know why you’re here. What’s going on?”
I picked up my resignation from the counter and handed it over. “Would you like a cup of coffee? Tea?”
Papa Smurf took the papers and sat down at the table. He glanced over the papers and put them to the side.
“I will have coffee,” he said. “I only had one cup at Kelly’s. I wanted to get here early, before you started your day.”
I poured his coffee and took a seat. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“For a start you don’t call me sir. Makes me feel old.” He looked over at John. “Why are you here? Did she call the cops?”
John shook his head. “We had an appointment this morning.”
Mr. Murphy looked between us then settled on John. “I don’t understand. Why are you here?”
“You’re aware we have an ongoing investigation here, sir. Regarding those drugs found in one of your units. We were doing an update.”
“Nothing to do with us,” Murphy snapped. “I personally talked to the District Attorney and we are completely clear.”
“Never doubted you, sir,” John said. “Miss Montoya had some information for us, regarding that case. I’m here to get that information. As a matter of fact, I was about ready to leave.”
Murphy blinked. “This isn’t about last night?”
“No sir. I took your son in last night on a separate note.”
“You arrested him?”
“I detained him for his own good. He was drunk in public and disorderly. I took him in and let him sleep it off.” John glanced at me. “Miss Montoya did not press charges, although she had the right to do so. Your son was abusive and insulting.”
The senior Murphy met John’s look before dropping his chin to look at his cup. The quiet spread like warm water. It was a full two minutes before Papa Smurf lifted his head, his eyes glistening. “My son has problems. I hope you will give my family the courtesy of keeping this among ourselves. We don’t discuss it publicly. However, in this circumstance, I feel it’s important.” He cleared his throat and took a sip of coffee.
“My son has always dealt with disappointment. His goals even as a child were unreal, out of his reach and he kept trying. His first marriage was a complete disaster. They were too young, both of them. Still, he tried. He tried so hard.” He shook his white head. “When that finally fell apart, he joined the Marines to get away from everything. He loved it. Loved it! Then he was excused, whatever that meant. We never understood. Oh, he has an honorable discharge, full benefits and all that. They just let him go. Sent him home. He was in Afghanistan at the time. Any way you don’t care about that. The thing is he’s been disappointed. In his choices. So he made another one, just as bad. Any set back now he turns to the bottle.” He shook his head again. “Beer is not so bad. We try to limit even that. Still, there are times he turns to the bottle. He’ll only drink good Irish whiskey,” he smiled. “He shouldn’t drink at all. We try to watch him, keep him from embarrassing himself, the family.”
“Sir, with all due respect to you and your family, Paul is a grown man. His behavior last night was out of line. You need to realize Marlena was within her rights to have him arrested.”
“I know that, Detective Kincaid. Believe me, I know that very well. I’ll deal with him. Right now I’m here to deal with you,” he said and looked at me. He picked up my carefully written resignation and tore it in half, tossing the pieces back on the table. “There is no need for this. You are doing an excellent job. We’re all pleased with your performance. As a matter of fact I’m here to tell you we’ve given you a raise. A sizeable one. We all agreed on that yesterday. Before last night’s unfortunate incident. I hope you can overlook my son’s behavior. That was inexcusable and I assure you I will speak to him about it.” He got to his feet. “I’m going to assume this matter is closed and you will be in the office on Monday as usual.”
“I appreciate your efforts, Mr. Murphy. I still think it would be best for all concerned if you found another manager.”
“No,” the old man said. “I refuse.”
“Sir, Papa,” I fumbled for the right words. “This is not going to work. I don’t want to cause friction between you and your son, with your family. You have my notice. I’ll stay till you find a new manager.”
“Excellent. You stay till I find someone else, run the place as you have been.” He stood up so I did. He reached out and pulled me into a bear hug. “You’re like a daughter to me, Marlena. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done. Please, forgive Paul. I assure you it will not happen again.”
He shook hands with John and left quickly, closing the door behind him.
I stood at the door wondering what happened. I looked over at John. “Did I quit?”
John laughed. “I’ve dealt with that old man before. He’s like a steam roller when he gets going. In answer to your question? No, I think he rejected your resignation.”
“He said he’d find a new manager.”
“Um-hmm, he did. And he’s not gonna find another manager in the next ten years. You stepped in that one, Marlena.” He smiled and stood up to take his cup to the sink. “Can I say I’m happy about it? I was enjoying dinner last night before Paul showed up. I’d like to try it again. What do you say?”
“I’d like that. By the way, did you get your money back? The waitress, Kathy, tried to give it back to me.”
“Haven’t seen her yet. No big deal. I eat there a lot. Being single I don’t cook much. If it won’t go between two pieces of bread I don’t buy it. Peanut butter is my best friend. I use one cup all week. Rinse it out daily and wash it on Sunday. Life of a bachelor. You’re doing me a favor to have dinner with me.”
“I look forward to it,” I said. “Thank you for your help, with the Paul situation last night.”
“Just doing my job, ma’am,” he drawled. “How about tonight?”
“Sounds good,” I smiled. “What time?”
“Six?”
“I’ll be ready.”
“All right, I’ll see you then.” With another smile he picked up folders, both his and mine, and let himself out and closed the door behind him.
I got yet another cup of coffee and sat back down at the table. The two halves of my resignation letter laid where they had fallen. I wadded them up and tossed them at the trash can.
I liked my job, I liked Mr. and Mrs. Murphy and I had no problem with Patrick. If Paul stayed out of my way this could work. If not? I had saved the letter on my computer. I could reprint it in minutes.
My afternoon nap was interrupted by the delivery of flowers, a sweet smelling selection of lilies and carnations. No card. I was pretty sure a Murphy was behind the gesture. I just didn’t know which one.
My weekend was relaxing and I needed it after the strain of the past few weeks. Late nights reading reams of logs, long hours watching the cameras and the incident with Paul Murphy all backed up on me and I was happy to take a break from all of it.
John and I drove all the way down to San Luis Obispo for dinner on Saturday night. Restaurant choices in this area are slim if you want something besides bar food or Kelly’s Diner. There was also no chance of running into a Murphy.
Sunday I drove up to Singer Lake with a picnic lunch and my Kindle. Sometimes it’s n
ice to be away from everything and everyone. I returned home relaxed and ready for the week.
That’s asking for it.
Monday morning I made the coffee in the office and sipped a cup while watching the weekend’s tapes from the cameras. Nothing out of the ordinary. The phantom Burke made no appearances I could see, everything normal.
Two hours later John walked in.
“Good morning,” I said. “What can I do for you this fine morning?”
“You’re in a good mood,” he smiled. “Most folks are grumpy on Monday.”
“I’m not most folks,” I smiled back.
“I’ll go along with that. I sure enjoyed dinner Saturday night. I hope we can do it again real soon.”
“Any time. I had a good time, too.”
He double patted the counter and glanced around the office. “I’d rather talk about Saturday but I’m here on business. Do you have another copy of that file you turned in? I dropped it off at the Sheriff’s department, for the task force and they’ve lost it. Can’t find it anywhere. I thought you might give me another copy.”
“Sure. I keep copies of everything. Covers my fanny,” I said. “Let me get it and I’ll run you another copy.” I stepped into the back office to get the file from the cabinet.
It wasn’t there. I double checked, going back through the last three months in case I had misfiled it. No luck. I looked all over my desk, checked the shelf where the manila folders are kept, everywhere. Nothing. I went back to the front office.
“Hang on a minute. I guess I misplaced it,” I said, looking through the desk drawers although I was sure I had filed it in back. Another five minutes produced nothing.
“I am so sorry. I can’t find it. I had it a few days ago, when I gave the copies to you and now I can’t find it anywhere. Can you hang on a few more minutes while I run upstairs and check?”
“Sure, Marlena, take your time. I’ll get some of that coffee if it’s okay.”
“In the back room,” I pointed to the break room door. “Help yourself, cream in the fridge. I’ll be right back.”
I went out the back door and hurried up the stairs, trying to remember the last time I saw the file folder. I was sure I had filed it after showing it to John. I remembered sliding it in the file cabinet because I had to make a new folder for it, not wanting it confused with the normal back up files I keep for the business.
Nothing. I checked the living room, kitchen, even my bedroom and there was no manila folder.
I didn’t lose it. Someone took it. I’m not perfect but I am also not one of those who loses their car keys or misplaces their checkbook. I pride myself on my memory.
The folder was gone.
I hurried back downstairs, again using the back door, and went into the office to find Patrick Murphy talking to John.
While I had never formally met Patrick, I had seen him on the cameras often, helping his mom load or unload. Up close he was a lot bigger than the little figure I had watched. As tall and broad as John with that deep black hair that shines almost blue in the sun and piercing bright blue eyes. His face was shadowed by a mustache and beard, both as black as his hair, making those eyes stand out.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were here,” I said, extending my hand to shake with him. “I’m Marlena Montoya. We haven’t met. Can I help you?”
The look he gave me would have frozen water. He ignored my outstretched hand and leaned on the counter.
“I know who you are,” he said. “I sign your paychecks.” His voice was as cold and hard as concrete in winter. “I don’t pay this guy, I pay you. Where were you?”
Deep breath, I thought, and blew it out. “This is Detective John Kincaid from Monarch,” I said, indicating John with one hand. “He’s working with the drug task force.”
Patrick Murphy flipped a hand. “I know who he is. He’s not on the payroll. Where were you? Aren’t you supposed to be working?”
Okay, one more deep breath. “I was upstairs looking for a file for Detective Kincaid, one I seem to have misplaced. I was not gone more than five minutes.”
“So where’s this file?”
“I just told you, I seem to have misplaced it. I’m sorry you had to wait. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Yeah, there is. I keep my motor home in space 29. I have for years. Now it’s occupied by another motor home. I believe your job includes seeing that everyone is where they belong. I want it moved. Do your job and get it out of my way. Comprende?”
“Yes, I understand. I was not aware you used that space. There is no record of it while I’ve been here. I will have the gentleman move. Is there anything else?”
Patrick gave me another of his frozen looks, turned and left without another word. I heard his truck start and looked out the window to see him drive away.
“Nice guy,” John said.
“Sorry about that,” I said, yet another apology.
“Hey, no problem. Looks like a genetic defect. Probably the first in his family born without a tail.”
I chuckled. “Well, I’ve never met him before. Not personally, although I know the whole family. He seems to have missed the courtesy gene.” I spread my hands, palms up. “I am really sorry but that file is gone. I can’t find it.”
“Can you make another one?”
I thought back. “Yes, I can. It will take me a little bit, to get the data off the recorder. Once I find the date I can burn the DVD in minutes. Can you wait?”
“I can do that.”
“I’ll be right back,” I said. I went to the back office and to get last month’s DVD. At the end of every month I burn the camera recordings to a DVD and file it on a shelf with the others. Each one goes into a glassine envelope with the date on the front so they’re easy to find.
Last month was missing.
I checked, rechecked and looked ten to the left and ten to the right. Two were missing. Last month and the month before. I was sure I had only used the one from the previous month.
“I’m sorry,” I told John, on my way through the office. “I must have left it upstairs. I’ll be right back.”
Once more up the stairs I hurried through the apartment checking my desk, the table and the counters, the only places I ever lay down work related documents. The DVD’s were missing.
Back downstairs I looked at John and shrugged. “No idea. Something is weird,” I said. “I am not careless with company records. They’re missing. The last two months are gone and I have no idea where.”
“Who else has access to this office,” John asked. “Could someone take them?”
“I suppose, but why? As for keys I have my keys. Steve, the weekend guy, has a set for the front door and the overlocks. Burke doesn’t have keys. He comes in when the office is open.”
“Burke?”
“Detective Burke. Agent Burke. Whatever he is, he’s on the task force. He’s the undercover guy here. Declan Burke.”
“Oh, right. I forgot. So the only door keys are yours and this Steve’s?”
I thought about it. “The owners have keys. They must have.”
John pulled a small spiral notebook from his shirt pocket. “The Murphy’s,” he said. “All of them?” He took a pen from the cup on the counter and turned to a new page.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never asked. I’m assuming at least one of them has keys. They own the place. What if I took a flyer? Was in a wreck or something. There must be another set. At least one.”
John put the pen back. “There could be more?”
I nodded. “I’ve only been here a couple of years. Who knows? The previous managers could still have keys. I never asked if they changed the locks. Could even be a former employee if they didn’t change them out.”
John frowned and put the notebook back in his pocket. “So a lot of people have access to this office.”
Put like that it sounded sloppy, like anyone could wander in when no one was around. “I hate to say it, but yeah
, I guess so.”
“How about customers? Could they go back there?”
“They could I guess but I don’t leave them here alone. If I’m showing a unit or cleaning on the lot or whatever, I lock the doors.” I held up the small plastic sign with the Velcro back that read ‘Manager Outside, Please Wait’ in tall, black letters. “This goes on the front door and I lock it. Even when I go get the mail.”
“You left me here, unattended,” he reminded me.
I felt my cheeks flush. “You don’t count.” I rolled my eyes and sighed. “That didn’t come out right. You know what I mean. You’re a cop.”
“I got it,” he smiled. “Is there anyone else you leave here?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How about Burke?”
“Possible,” I said. “He uses the back door, to get to the tools and the cart. I may have left it unlocked during the day. It’s an unmarked door and most customers don’t even know it’s there. It opens into the garage.”
“Burke could come in through the garage, to here, in the office. Is that right?”
I nodded again. “He could. But he’s a cop, too.”
“How about when you close? Can the garage be opened? From the outside?”
“No. There’s an automatic door opener we use to open it. From the inside there’s a button to lift the door but not from the outside.”
“Okay. Then if you were outside without an opener how would you get in the garage?”
“Come through here, either the back or the front, go into the garage and push the door lift from inside.”
“Well, that’s no help,” he smiled. “I’ll go search the Sheriff’s department. There’s one room up there the task force is using as a base of operations. Someone may have misplaced it, or borrowed it and forgot to bring it back. I’ll check with them. In the meantime, do you think you could ask about the keys?”
“I intend to. Truthfully, I doubt they know. I’ve found Mrs. Murphy’s keys half a dozen times. She lays them on the ground, or the roof of her car and drives off and the keys fall off.”
“They’re separate from her car keys? She could leave them and not know it?”
